Household Gods

"All things are full of Gods." Thales

for Norma

Photo by Chapman Chow on Unsplash

Proem

“All things are full of Gods”

Dear Sis, you don’t, as I do, find it odd
To worship three males as a single God,
A father, a son, a mysterious other
Binding both together, a masculine mother.
Though it’s no good, either, to assume
Godhead blessed with breasts and womb
Or worship a hermaphrodite,
Immerse ourselves in a world of light,
Get lost in Buddhist zerohood
Or join a cult, or become a Druid.
So godless, lost, I read the fates
In long and short term interest rates
And dream about the Hindu nation
With more Gods than population
And, finally, settle for the odds
And ends of divinity, Household Gods.

The Dough Goddess

“Those who need me may seek me in their kitchen as they break their fast or in their bed, in the dark of night, when wicked thoughts fill their mind.”

As the body collapses into a collage of bags,
we play Magnificat on our wheezy violins,
but why believe that communion comes
from Christ, who died for our sins
and not from you who, despite them, thrive?

“Bread Mother, care for us.
We are the seed inside more
than the rotting fruit, more clumsy
studious kitten than the ratty-haired
graceful cat who will seldom
choose to move; not the compost
but the commerce of your kitchen
and the kitchen garden.”

@Copywrite 2026 William Marsh